Once there was a boy who loved to draw. His name was
Joji.
Joji grew up on a farm with lots of brothers and
sisters. The others were a big help to their father and mother. But not
Joji!
He did nothing for hours but draw in the dirt with a
stick. And what Joji drew was just one thing.
Cats.
Cats, cats, and more cats. Small cats, big cats,
thin cats, fat cats. Cats, cats, cats, cats, cats.
“Joji,” his father told him, “you must stop drawing
all those cats! How will you ever be a farmer?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll try to stop.”
And he did try. But whenever Joji saw one of the
farm cats go by, he forgot about his chores and drew another cat.
“Joji will never make a farmer,” said the farmer
sadly to his wife.
“Maybe he could be a priest,” she told him. “Why
don’t you take him to the temple?”
So the farmer brought Joji to the priest at the
village temple. The priest said, “I will gladly teach him.”
From then on, Joji lived at the temple. The priest
gave him lessons in reading and writing. Joji had his own box of writing
tools, with a brush and an ink stick and a stone.
Joji loved to make the ink. He poured water in the
hollow of the stone. He dipped the ink stick in the water. Then he
rubbed the stick on the stone. And there was the ink for his brush!
Now, the other students worked hard at their
writing. But not Joji! With his brush and rice paper, he did nothing for
hours but draw. And what Joji drew was just one thing.
Cats.
Cats, cats, and more cats. Small cats, big cats,
thin cats, fat cats. Cats, cats, cats, cats, cats.
“Joji,” the priest told him, “you must stop drawing
all those cats! How will you ever be a priest?”
“I’m sorry, honorable sir. I’ll try to stop.”
And he did try. But whenever Joji saw one of the
temple cats go by, he forgot about his writing and drew another cat.
That was bad enough. Then Joji started drawing on
the folding screens of the temple. Soon there were cats on all the
rice-paper panels. They were everywhere!
“Joji, you’ll never make a priest,” the priest told
him sadly. “You’ll just have to go home.”
Joji went to his room and packed his things. But he
was afraid to go home. He knew his father would be angry.
Then he remembered another temple in a village
nearby. “Maybe I can stay with the priest there.”
Joji started out walking. It was already night when
he got to the other village.
He climbed the steps to the temple and knocked.
There was no answer. He opened the heavy door. It was all dark inside.
“That’s strange,” said Joji. “Why isn’t anyone
here?”
He lit a lamp by the door. Then he saw something
that made him clap. All around the big room were folding screens with
empty rice-paper panels.
Joji got out his writing box and made some ink. Then
he dipped in his brush and started to draw. And what Joji drew was just
one thing.
Cats.
Cats, cats, and more cats. Small cats, big cats,
thin cats, fat cats. Cats, cats, cats, cats, cats.
The screen he drew on last was almost as long as the
room. Joji covered it with one gigantic cat—the biggest and most
beautiful cat he had ever drawn.
Now Joji was tired. He started to lie down. But
something about the big room bothered him.
“I’ll find someplace smaller.”
He found a cozy closet and settled inside. Then he
slid shut the panel door and went to sleep.
Late that night, Joji awoke in fright.
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
It sounded like a large, fierce animal in the
temple! Now he knew why no one was there. He wished he wasn’t there
either!
He heard the thing sniff around the big room. It
halted right in front of the closet. Then all at once . . .
Yowl!
There was a sound of struggling, and a roar of
surprise and pain. Then a huge thud that shook the floor.
Then a soft padding sound. Then silence.
Joji lay trembling in the dark. He stayed there for
hours, afraid to look out of the closet.
At last, daylight showed at the edge of the door.
Joji carefully slid the door open and peered out.
In the middle of the room lay a monster rat—a rat as
big as a cow! It lay dead, as if something had smashed it to the floor.
Joji looked around the room. No one and nothing else
was there—just the screens with the cats. Then Joji looked again at the
one gigantic cat.
“Didn’t I draw the head to the left and the tail to
the right?”
Yes, he was sure of it. But now the cat faced the
other way—as if it had come down off the screen and then gone back up.
“The cat!” said Joji. His eyes grew wide. Then he
pressed his palms together and bowed to the screen.
“Thank you, honorable cat. You have saved me. For as
long as I live, no one will stop me from drawing cats.”
* * *
When the villagers learned that the monster rat was
dead, Joji became a hero. The village priest let him live in the temple
as long as he liked.
But Joji did not become a priest. And he did not
become a farmer.
He became an artist. A great artist. An artist
honored through all the country. An artist who drew just one thing.
Cats!
About the Story
This Japanese tale is retold from “The Boy Who Drew
Cats” in Gleanings from Buddha-Fields, by Lafcadio Hearn,
Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1897. Joji is pronounced “JO-jee.” The
temples and priests in the story are Buddhist. My thanks to storyteller
Grace Megumi Fleming for her suggestions and help with cultural details.
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